


A Bad Feeling

by Lauralot



Series: Alexander Pierce should have died slower [16]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Diapers, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The former Winter Soldier has a sleepover with his former handler.</p><p>What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Feeling

**“I got a bad feeling about this.”**

—Han Solo, _Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope_

  


It isn’t until Bucky’s in the checkout line that he realizes he forgot the ankle bracelet.

He stares guiltily at his shoes, fingers tensing around the handle of his shopping basket. It violates the terms of his release into the Avengers’ custody, leaving the tower without it. Sure, visiting Rumlow also violates those terms, but the tracking bracelet means more than that. Tony tinkered with it so that it does things beyond just reporting his location. It also sets an alarm off back at the tower if Bucky suddenly falls unconscious or experiences a massive drop in blood pressure. And somehow, it can alert them to the presence of incapacitating drug or alcohol levels in Bucky’s blood. It puts Steve, hell, everyone, at ease when Bucky goes out alone.

Not wanting them to worry, Bucky nearly drops the basket where he stands and starts back home.

But then the woman in front of Bucky is taking her receipt, and the register’s open to him. Another customer is coming through the door, thunder rumbling in the distance, and like hell is Bucky going to get caught in the rain on a journey back when he’s only a few blocks from Rumlow’s. Besides, he was the _Winter Soldier_. He’s a war veteran. He can handle a day on his own without constant monitoring. JARVIS knows he left anyway, so it’s not like they’ll think he’s been abducted.

It’s already drizzling when Bucky steps out onto the sidewalk, shuffling his shopping bags to grab his phone from his pocket. He should at least text Steve, let him know when Bucky will be back. It’ll save him a lecture tonight.

Not for the first time, Bucky wonders if he used to lecture Steve back before the war. Steve said Bucky yelled at him about a dummy grenade once; does that count?

Pressing the home button on his phone, Bucky just catches a glimpse of a low battery warning before the screen abruptly returns to black. Great. He stops dead on the sidewalk, casting a worried glance over his shoulder. Maybe he should just—

No. The charge cord is in his jacket, and Steve can live another fifteen minutes without Bucky checking in. They should know not to expect him soon anyway; Clint had asked if Bucky wanted to play Mario Kart while Bucky was on his way out, and Bucky shook his head, signing _Back late_. So it’s fine.

In the backpack slung over his shoulders, designed to look like Steve’s shield, Bucky Bear agrees. And Bucky Bear never makes bad decisions.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Bucky starts walking again. His steps quicken to a jog as the rain picks up, water dripping from the brim of his cap.

To use the apartment stairs instead of the fire escape, Bucky has to be buzzed in. His finger hovers over the button for Rumlow’s apartment before he thinks better of it and presses them all. Rumlow would refuse him, and that just means more time stuck in the rain as he goes for the fire escape anyway. But someone in this complex must be expecting a visitor.

The door clicks open a moment later, and Bucky steps inside, stomping his shoes dry on the mat. He’s taking the stairs for the sake of the groceries; nothing ruins pancakes like flour that’s all weird and clumpy due to rainwater slipping into the shopping bag. The relief that floods him once he finally works open Rumlow’s door is coincidental. Psychosomatic. He wasn’t thinking of Rumlow’s order— _At least pretend to be a normal person and use the damn door_ —when he buzzed in. He wasn’t.

“I locked that door,” Rumlow says, removing wrapping from his knuckles. He’s standing before that punching bag he’s so fond of, panting. His workout clothes are drenched with sweat, but at least he’s in real clothing this time.

“Crappy lock,” Bucky says, setting the shopping bags on the kitchen counter. The space is so small that a few bags of groceries completely covers it.

“It was chained.”

Bucky shrugs, carefully setting a carton of eggs in the fridge. Just like last time, the refrigerator’s all but empty save for the beer. “Winter Soldier.” He doesn’t ask why Rumlow didn’t just slam the door on his hand if he wanted him out. Because Rumlow couldn’t fight off Bucky and he knows it. Reminding him of that will only make him pissier.

“The fuck is this?” Rumlow demands, crossing his arms as Bucky slides the juice boxes in beside the eggs.

“I said I wanted pancakes and juice. And since you seem to live off of pure spite, I got the stuff to make ‘em.”

“Since when do pancakes have ham?” Rumlow pulled the package in question out of one of the bags.

“Thought I might want an omelet too.” He couldn’t help grabbing bread and meat and a few other things while he was in the store. Rumlow’s never had much food in the house when Bucky’s around, and super soldiers get hungry. It was necessary.

“Like hell. And what’s this supposed to be?” This time there isn’t a food product in Rumlow’s hand, but a postal shipping box.

“A Roomba.” Bucky throws open a cabinet, looking for a place to set the flour. This one’s already got dishes and glasses inside. He moves to open the next one over, but Rumlow grabs his hand.

“You wanna explain why you bought me a Roomba?”

“I broke your broom,” Bucky says, nodding to the space where it used to be. “I figured this would be a better replacement.” The website said the Roomba was safe for hardwood floors, so Bucky guesses it’s safe for a lookalike laminate. If Rumlow’s floor can be called laminate. It’s like wood grain stickers over concrete, cold everywhere apart from the rug in front of the sofa. “Got you batteries too.”

“You got me a robot vacuum.” Rumlow drops the box back onto the counter, swiping the flour from Bucky and moving it to a cabinet on the far end of the kitchen. There’s nothing else there but a box of corn flakes. “Why should I trust that it’s not bugged?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, taking the rest of the groceries from their bags. Milk, syrup, chocolate chips, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, oil, vinegar, spaghetti, popcorn, some jarred sauces and canned vegetables, honey, some frozen fruits, a cake mix and frosting, and a few spices. “For starters, how stupid would I have to be to put microphones in a _vacuum cleaner_?”

“How much electricity’s been run through your head?” Rumlow counters, not a hint of remorse in his voice.

Bucky won’t rise to the bait. “If they wanted your apartment bugged, it would already be bugged,” he says.

Rumlow casts his eyes around as though looking for a distraction. He seems to find it in Bucky’s groceries. “Planning on moving in?”

“Yep. I wanted to move out of the Avengers’ Tower with all the people who love me to a shithole apartment with the jackass who kept me captive and can’t even keep his fridge stocked. You should be a private eye.”

“I wouldn’t let you live here anyway,” Rumlow snaps. He runs a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, making it stick out at odd angles. He looks like an angry, discolored rooster, which doesn’t aid Bucky’s mission of trying not to smirk in the slightest. “Are you even housebroken?”

Bucky has to force a smile, gritting his teeth. “Well, now I might just mark all your pathetic territory for the hell of it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says evenly, returning his attention to the cabinets. The one Rumlow prevented him from opening must be loaded with either painkillers or hard liquor. He feels a sudden, overpowering urge to throw the cabinet open and just _sneer_ at the state of the former commander’s life, but that would be pointless and cruel. So he focuses instead on sliding off his backpack and retrieving his bear. Bucky Bear likes Rumlow. Maybe he can be some sort of inanimate peacekeeper.

“Why do you have to bring that shit into my house?” Rumlow demands, glaring at the backpack.

Well, so much for keeping the peace. _Because it’s cool and every ring of the shield is its own pocket,_ Bucky does not say. “This isn’t a house. It’s a broom closet. Where do you want me to put the rest of the food?” 

Now scowling at his countertop, Rumlow doesn’t answer. “You bought a bottle of honey for a _stuffed bear_?”

Surprised, Bucky glances back at the counter. Bucky Bear isn’t even sitting next to the honey; he’s much closer to the cake mix. Pretty much everyone at the tower guessed that the bear was eating the honey once they saw him with a bottle of the stuff in his paws, but nobody’s surmised it just from seeing Bucky Bear in the same room as honey. “How do you know that’s not for the pancakes?”

“Why would you buy both syrup and honey?” Rumlow counters. “If you try spoon-feeding honey to a teddy bear—”

“A Bucky Bear,” Bucky corrects.

“Whatever. You make a mess, you clean it up.”

“He eats by osmosis.” Bucky zips the backpack shut before standing up. Rumlow looks as though he’s going to argue about the logistics of feeding stuffed bears, but Bucky cuts him off before he can start. “If you don’t tell me where to put this stuff, I’m just going to toss it into cabinets at random.”

“Anything that doesn’t need to be refrigerated goes in the same place as the flour.” Rumlow brushes at the wayward strands of hair drooping in front of his eyes. “You run outta space, use the cabinet next to it. I’m taking a shower, and you better have that Roomba thing up and running by the time I get back.”

“Tired of living in filth?” Bucky asks, gathering up the dry goods.

“Can it, asshole. If it’s on while you’re here, odds are it isn’t rigged to explode.”

Bucky holds his tongue instead of making a comment about paranoia. By the time the shower starts running, all the groceries are dealt with. They only fill up the one cabinet. He’s about to start on the Roomba when he remembers the little plastic seals around each of the spice bottles. Annoying enough for people with full dexterity in their fingers.

It isn’t until Bucky’s removed all the safety seals that he realizes Rumlow will probably accuse him of attempted poisoning next. Oh well. That’ll just give Bucky an excuse to demand that Rumlow make more food for him. Though given how well their conversations usually go, Rumlow might just decide that Bucky’s built up an immunity to various poisons out of spite.

As far as Bucky can remember, HYDRA never bothered to develop immunities in him. And as far as he remembers, Rumlow wasn’t nearly as whiny before a building fell on him.

He gets the batteries in the Roomba and switches it on, leaning against the counter next to Bucky Bear once the machine’s rolling across the floor. It’s louder than he expected, roaming across the kitchen in seemingly random directions. Bucky tries to anticipate its pattern. It’s easier to puzzle over why the machine stops halfway across the floor and begins spinning in small circles than it is to acknowledge the damnable relief flooding through him. He’s done what Rumlow said. He’s good. He’s—

 _I’m a human being,_ he said the last time he stood in this kitchen. _I don’t need a handler._

But he _wants_ with a ferocity he’s never expressed to anyone, not even the doctors. Not even Steve.

If he told Rumlow, the ex-commander would say it proves that he’s just a weapon playing dress-up. Or Rumlow would laugh. And no matter how much he shouldn’t care, Bucky would die if Rumlow laughed at him. Or worse, called him a sick fuck and ordered him not to come back.

Bucky grabs the bear and squeezes tight, trying to let the respite flood through him without actually feeling it. The Roomba’s stopped spinning now, gliding up and down the floor again. Back and forth, back and forth.

It occurs to him that Bucky Bear could ride on the Roomba, but Bucky Bear isn’t interested.

Rumlow’s gait is a little stiffer when he comes back. Bucky wonders if that’s an aftereffect of the exercise, or if a shower irritates the scarring. “Look,” Bucky says, pointing toward the Roomba. “No explosions.”

“Yet.” Rumlow barely glances toward the machine, scowling at Bucky. “So if you get your damn pancakes, you’ll go away?”

“Eh.” Bucky tries to look as though he’s giving the matter deep thought. “Maybe.”

It’s actually visible, the instant when Rumlow’s patience snaps. “Listen, Winter. If you think I’m gonna let you keep—”

“I want to watch a movie,” Bucky says, sidestepping Rumlow. The apartment is small enough that he manages to settle down on the couch before Rumlow can even process his words and begin sputtering in anger.

“Like _hell_ are y—”

“Hey.” Bucky smiles cheerfully, lying down across the couch as he does. He stares at Rumlow upside down, head resting over the edge of one arm while his feet lie on the other. Still grinning, he waves the bear in the air over him. “Remember that time you realized what a sick fuck Pierce was, but you still took me back to him?”

Most of Rumlow’s face goes white, though the scar tissue remains reddened.

“Movie time!” Bucky singsongs. Having made his point, he sits up, wriggling to the side to allow a space for Rumlow beside him. Rumlow, unmoving, fixes him with the sort of glare that usually precedes attempted homicide rather than a movie night.

“You can hold Bucky Bear,” Bucky offers, just to watch Rumlow’s face go all indignant again.

“If you expect me to sit through any more princess crap, just go ahead and kill me.”

“Not getting off that easy.” When Rumlow remains stationary, Bucky sighs. “Fine, no princesses. Would you just sit down? Isn’t moping on your couch for a couple hours better than making pancakes for me, anyway?”

“Depends on the movie.” Rumlow just crosses his arms, still scowling. “I’m not watching some boring bear documentary either.”

“Bears are amazing,” Bucky says, feeling his own bear’s temper flare up. “Sometimes, they eat people who intrude on their territory. Or who won’t watch a movie with them.”

Rumlow snorts, which Bucky supposes is a little better than all the glaring. “Even if your bear had teeth, Winter, he likes me.”

Which is true, unfortunately, but how the hell does Rumlow know that? It’s not like he speaks Bear. Maybe all the attempts on Bucky Bear’s behalf to get the Commander to hold him tipped Rumlow off. Bucky shrugs. “I want to watch Star Wars.”

It was one of Rumlow’s suggestions the last time Bucky was here, and it plainly relieves him to hear it now. Rumlow makes sure to sigh in exasperation as he approaches the couch, but at least now he’s willing to open up his laptop. “Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

Rumlow’s staring again. He looks more offended now than he had when Bucky picked the lock. “What have you been _doing_ with your life since you got out?”

“Uh.” It’s probably not acceptable to slap a burn victim in the head, even if he is a total idiot. “Sitting in therapy sessions and trying to stay out of jail?”

If that mollifies Rumlow in the slightest, he doesn’t show it. “What the fuck have your babysitters been doing with their lives?” The laptop’s on now, but Rumlow doesn’t move to type in the password. “Wait. Let me guess. Stark’s one of those Trekkie types, isn’t he?”

Tony did introduce Bucky to Star Trek. He’d liked The Next Generation best, with the android. Bucky Bear’s favorite thing was the tribbles. “I’ve seen that.” He shrugs. “But Tony likes Star Wars too, I’m just not al—”

He cuts himself off there, but he’s already too late. He stares at the floor, able to feel Rumlow’s gleeful smirk without even looking at him.

“You’re not _allowed to_?”

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky mumbles, though he was absolutely going to.

The halfhearted protest doesn’t matter; Rumlow’s talking over him anyway. “You’re not allowed to, holy shit. The Winter Soldier, sneaking out of his bedroom to go watch the movies Mommy and Daddy say aren’t okay. Ain’t that real fucking cute? What, were the Wookiees too much for you?”

“Just play the damn movie before I crush your throat.” Bucky raises his head but doesn’t bother to brush the hair back from his face. It hides the blush.

“I don’t know if I should, Winter. It might be too much for you to handle.”

Bucky reaches out, splaying his metal fingers on the laptop’s hand rest. There’s a squealing sound, and when he removes his hand, there are faint indentations where his fingers used to be. It’s not deep enough to damage the machine, just to make his point.

“Fucking fine,” Rumlow mutters, cowed, and that would satisfy Bucky if not for the smirk still playing at Rumlow’s lips as he opens the Internet browser. “Sure you don’t need a blankie to keep you safe once it starts?”

Bucky pushes Rumlow off the couch. Not hard and not into anything, but if Rumlow wants to treat him like some snot-nosed brat, well, why not just act like one? “There’s popcorn in your cabinet,” he says, before Rumlow can start whining. “I want it and you’re going to get it.”

“Any other demands?” Rumlow winces as he hauls himself up, and Bucky tries to bury the resulting twinge of guilt.

“I’ll make them as they come to me,” he says.

A few minutes later, and the air is thick with the smell of popped corn and artificial butter. Rumlow carries the steaming bag in one hand, and a juice box and honey bottle in the other. At Bucky’s raised eyebrow, he says “So you couldn’t bitch about not having ‘em.” He puts the popcorn and juice on the coffee table, setting the honey in front of Bucky Bear.

When Rumlow moves his hand toward the popcorn, Bucky nudges it away. “Mine.”

Rumlow sighs deeply in place of a response. “Here.” He settles the laptop on the coffee table, and Bucky moves the popcorn to keep it from steaming up the screen. “Happy now?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, reading the single line of text that’s appeared onscreen. He tenses a bit when there’s a sudden, loud blare of music, but then there’s more text and he’s focused on that, brows coming together as he reads. “Episode Four?”

“Four through six came out first,” Rumlow says, pausing the movie. “If you watch four and five after one through three, there’s no point.”

It doesn’t make any sense to Bucky, but he supposes it doesn’t matter, returning his attention to the text crawling up the screen. It’s nice now that he’s accustomed to the music. A lot of the movies he can remember from the past used to start with paragraphs onscreen. Most modern movies don’t.

As soon as the film proper starts, Bucky leans in, enthralled by the effects. He’s used to computer generation now; Tony taught him all about it when he was confused by how Brave was animated. But this doesn’t look like a computer effect. The spaceships look _real_ , solid in a way that Bucky’s never seen before. It’s amazing.

Then one of the robots says, “There’ll be no escape for the princess this time,” and Bucky laughs out loud.

“Thought you said you were sick of princess crap?” he asks, and Rumlow rolls his eyes.

“Princesses with blasters are okay.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, poking the bendy straw through the foil of the juice box and settling back to keep watching.

Rumlow tries to sneak his hand into the popcorn again around the time Luke discovers the princess’s recorded message, but Bucky nudges him away.

“Seriously?”

“You can share Bucky Bear’s honey,” Bucky offers. The bear thinks it’s a brilliant idea, he knows, wanting to be helpful. Rumlow, less impressed, just scowls, leaving Bucky Bear to sulk.

There’s an uneasy feeling brewing in Bucky’s stomach when Luke returns home to find his aunt and uncle’s charred bodies in the smoldering wreckage. He shifts on the couch, trying to ignore it, and for a while that’s easy. He’s distracted with trying to figure out how they got Luke’s speeder to hover like that, and then Luke and Obi-Wan Kenobi are in a cantina full of cool-looking aliens. It keeps his mind occupied.

To a point. But then one of the aliens threatens Luke, and Obi-Wan’s pulling out his lightsaber, and then there’s an arm lying on the floor, blood all around, and—

Bucky Bear isn’t eating his honey anymore because Bucky’s grabbed onto him, pulling him close, and the honey bottle’s fallen onto the rug, and Bucky’s trembling and it _hurt_ , it hurt lying in the snow with what was left of his arm bleeding, it hurt when he woke up with metal melded into his skin, it hurt and it still hurts and—

“Oh hey, kid,” the Commander says, reaching over to take a handful of popcorn. “Worst effect in the whole movie, huh? You can tell it’s just a hollow rubber prop. Doesn’t even make any sense, anyway—the heat of a lightsaber would cauterize the wound instantly. Why would there be blood?”

Bucky blinks. The arm did look kind of fake, but he’s still shaking so bad.

“Here.” The Commander pauses the movie. “Looks like you’re out of juice. How about I get you another one and you get your bear’s honey picked up? I’ll bet he’s still hungry. Bears need to eat a lot.”

Bucky Bear is still hungry. The Commander must know a lot about bears. “Uh-huh.”

“You know,” the Commander says, easing himself up, “in the sixth movie, a whole bunch of little bears help save the day.”

Bucky can almost feel his bear’s ears perk up in excitement. They definitely have to keep watching now.

There are some more scary parts as the movie goes on, but it seems like every time one comes up, the Commander’s asking if he wants more popcorn or pointing out a silly effect or something. It’s not like at home. The Commander doesn’t seem to worry if Bucky gets scared.

And he’s not really all that scared. Mostly, it’s just a good movie. Han Solo makes Bucky laugh. He’s a lot like Tony but without the Iron Man suit, which is probably for the best.

“Can we watch another one can we please?” he asks as soon as the movie ends.

“You’re in luck, kid,” the Commander says. “’Cause the next movie is the best one of them all.”

Bucky knows he shouldn’t squeal out loud because the grown-ups always say ‘Inside voices, Tasha’ when she does that. But he’s making a lot of noise in his head, and he can’t keep from hugging onto the Commander. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

“Hey, whoa.” The Commander’s squirming free, and Bucky’s tummy clenches up. He must have hugged too hard. He probably hurt the Commander’s scars and now he won’t be allowed to watch the movie and he’ll have to go sit in the corner and—

“I’ve got a real important job for you before we start the next movie,” the Commander says, looking so serious that Bucky can feel his own smile slipping away.

“Uh-huh?” Bucky’s heart starts to beat faster. He doesn’t have missions anymore. Daddy said so, Sam said so, and Miriam and Cornelius and everybody else said so too. But he can’t disobey the Commander, especially after Bucky’s made him so upset so many times.

“I need you to go make another bag of popcorn.”

Bucky glances to his bear. Bucky Bear agrees that this is the sort of mission nobody could get mad about, not even Daddy.

When he brings in the new bag of popcorn, still hot from the microwave, the Commander smiles. “Good job, Winter.”

Bucky smiles, so happy that he feels like he could melt into the couch. He’s _good_.

The second movie has more scary parts. Han gets frozen and Bucky can’t help but cling to the Commander again. The Commander doesn’t tell Bucky that he’s not good anymore. He doesn’t say anything like he did during the first movie. He just stiffly pets Bucky’s hair a few times.

He does speak when Luke gets his hand cut off and Bucky whimpers, burying his face against the Commander’s side. “Keep watching, kid. One of the greatest plot twists in history is coming up.”

“No,” says Darth Vader. “I am your father.”

Bucky stares at the screen, waiting, until he realizes the Commander’s frowning at him.

“Well?”

“What?” Bucky says.

“What?” the Commander repeats. “Luke Skywalker’s father is a Sith Lord and you have no reaction?”

“I knew that part already. They say it in a Disney commercial.” And on a lot of other TV things too. Bucky’s being seeing Star Wars references for about as long as he’s been allowed to watch television. “And Vader’s ‘father’ in Dutch.”

The Commander just sighs. He mutters something about ‘fucking pop culture osmosis’ but Bucky doesn’t catch the rest.

His tummy’s starting to hurt again. Bucky doesn’t want Luke to have a daddy who cut his hand off and blew up a planet and tortured a princess. Why can’t Obi-Wan be Luke’s daddy? Or Yoda, or Han, or anybody else?

He feels a little bit better when Leia rescues Luke. They give him a new robot hand, and that makes Bucky smile even before the Commander softly elbows his ribs. “Look, Winter. Just like you.”

“Can we watch the one with the teddy bears now?” Bucky asks as the credits are rolling. Teddy bears will definitely make him feel better. And he knows that Bucky Bear will be excited about them.

“That one’s not next.”

“But six comes after five.” Bucky can count. He’s little, but he still knows the alphabet and numbers. He’s not a baby.

“The right way to watch the movies is four, five, one, two, three, and six.” The Commander leans forward, scooping up the popcorn bags and putting the empty juice boxes inside them. “Trust me on this. Is Bucky Bear done with his honey?”

“Uh, yeah.” That order doesn’t make any sense, but Bucky guesses the Commander knows more about these things than he does. Once the coffee table’s cleaned up and Bucky Bear’s honey is back in the cabinet, they start Episode One.

This movie looks a lot newer, even though it’s supposed to be years before the Luke and Leia stuff. It looks a lot more computery too. Bucky frowns when the Queen shows up, scooting closer and squinting at the screen.

“Something wrong?” the Commander asks.

“She looks like Jane,” Bucky says, because she does. Just younger and in face paint.

“Who?”

“Thor’s friend.”

The Commander just shrugs.

This movie has a lot of scenes with people talking about politics or sitting in the Senate. It’s kind of like when Bucky’s last daddy had to make important phone calls and Bucky had to be very quiet. It made him tired back then, and it still does. Bucky’s eyes feel heavy and sometimes he has to pinch himself to stay awake. Darth Vader is in this movie but he’s nine years old and nice and Bucky isn’t sure how to feel about that.

He feels cold when they take Anakin to the Jedi Council.

“Uh,” he says, scooting back and staring wide-eyed at Mace Windu. “That—he looks like—”

“Yeah.” The Commander shakes his head. “Weird as hell, isn’t it?”

By the time the movie’s over, Bucky has his head on the Commander’s shoulder, trying to stifle his yawns.

“It’s probably time for you to head home,” the Commander says, easing him up.

“I wasn’t asleep!” Bucky protests. “Please, I wanna know what happens next. I can stay up, I promise.”

The Commander opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but then he closes it again. “Look, I need to get some sleep, okay? And you need to go home. It’s not like you can spend the night.”

“I can!” He didn’t think he would, but Bucky tries to pack everything in his backpack just in case. “I’ve got my pajamas and my toothbrush and everything. I can just sleep here and we can watch the other movies and make pancakes and stuff tomorrow.”

He thinks it’s a great idea, but the Commander just winces. “That’s not a good—”

“It’s all dark and rainy out and Bucky Bear might get mildewed if we go outside and then he’ll be sad and I’ll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m here I’ll be really really quiet and I won’t get up in the night and do anything I promise I won’t wake you up early or make noise or anything _please_.”

Bucky knows that he’s whining, but he can’t help it. And Bucky Bear says it’s a good strategy. Bucky Bear knows a lot about strategies.

The Commander’s head droops down and he twists his fingers in his hair, but all he says is, “Fine. Whatever. Just go get changed, okay?” 

Bucky locks the bathroom door behind him and checks twice to make sure it won’t open. It’s not a very good lock and, even with his injuries, the Commander could probably break it, but Bucky doesn’t think he will. He just needs to know that the Commander can’t open it by accident.

There’s a hidden pocket inside the backpack where Bucky keeps pull-ups whenever he goes to sleep in Tasha’s room. There’s also big Ziploc bags there, so when he gets up in the morning he can hide anything he needs to throw away until he’s by a trash can where nobody will notice. Bucky dresses fast and swallows his medications as soon as his pajamas are on, not wanting the Commander or his bear to worry. But he can’t find the toothpaste.

Bucky goes through the whole backpack three times. His hairbrush is there, his toothbrush is there, but the toothpaste isn’t. He must have forgotten to pack it.

The Commander won’t mind if Bucky uses a little bit of his toothpaste, probably. And Bucky can always buy him more. But he doesn’t find toothpaste when he opens the medicine cabinet.

What he finds are pills. Bottles and bottles of pills, pushed close together, and filling up every row of the medicine cabinet. There are some smaller bottles stacked on top of bigger ones. Some of the bottles have labels on them from pharmacies. Some of them don’t.

Bucky slams the door shut, accidentally rattling the cabinet. It doesn’t sound like anything’s fallen over, but what if the Commander heard the noise? What if he’s mad at Bucky for spying?

He didn’t mean to spy. He didn’t _know_. But he’s sure the Commander won’t like it. It felt wrong, seeing that, like he’d just walked in on the Commander during a shower or something. It seems private.

Bucky’s bending down to look in the cabinet under the sink before he can even think about it. The door creaks, so he only opens it about an inch, but that’s enough to see that this cabinet’s full of medicine too. It’s all painkillers.

He didn’t know the Commander hurts that much.

He didn’t know a person was allowed to have this much medicine. Bucky only gets a month’s worth of pills at a time and JARVIS is always keeping track of whether or not Bucky’s taking them so he won’t forget that he already has and swallow more by mistake. He feels like the Commander could get in trouble for having this many pills.

“You about done, Winter?” the Commander asks, knocking on the door. “I’ve got your bed set up.” 

The Commander had gone to the bathroom a lot during the movies. Bucky just thought he drank too much beer.

Most of Bucky’s medicines have a warning about how you’re not supposed to drink alcohol when you take them. It can hurt you. And the Commander already hurts so much. But maybe these medicines are different. Maybe it’s okay to have this many because the Commander got hurt all over. And maybe he can drink beer with these pills.

Maybe if Bucky can make the Commander happier and get him to eat more and do things other than feel bad, he won’t need so many pills.

“Winter?”

“I’m done!” Bucky thinks his voice shakes a little, but maybe the Commander won’t notice. He closes the cabinet, zips up his backpack, and then unlocks and opens the door.

The Commander is frowning.

Bucky’s stomach twists like the popcorn and juice are going to come right back up. He’s in trouble now. Spying isn’t okay. The Commander’s going to make him go and tell him never to come back and then he won’t be able to fix anything or—

“Did you have to wear that?” the Commander demands.

Blinking, Bucky looks down. He’s in his Captain America pajamas. Earlier, when he hadn’t really planned to stay the night, he thought they’d be funny and make Rumlow mad. He doesn’t want to make Rumlow mad anymore, but he doesn’t have anything else to sleep in. “They make me feel safe,” he whispers.

The Commander doesn’t throw him out. He just rolls his eyes. “I’ve got the couch set up for you, see?” He gestures down the hall. There’s a pillow and blankets laid out on the couch, and Bucky shuffles toward them, tugging a little on the hem of his shirt. Bucky Bear is sitting on the pillow. The bear can tell that Bucky’s worried, but they can’t talk about it while the Commander’s here.

“Need any more blankets?” the Commander asks as Bucky settles down.

“Uh-uh.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the bedroom, so if you need any—”

“You’re not staying?” Bucky can’t keep his voice from squeaking. It’s not that he can’t sleep just with Bucky Bear—he does it all the time—but he’s never slept here before. There’s no nightlight. And the walls are thin and he can hear all kinds of noises.

The Commander sighs. “There’s not enough room for two people on the couch, Winter. The floor’s too hard to sleep on. I’ll be right down the hall.”

Bucky can’t make the Commander sleep on the floor. He can’t make him hurt worse and need even more of those pills. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Kid, you’ll be fine.” The Commander looks so tired as he rubs a hand at his eyes. “I promise. Look, there’s only three ways in and out of this apartment. The door, that window, and the bedroom window. I’ll be watching my window. Bucky Bear can stand guard here, okay? He’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Bucky Bear likes this plan. He says he can sit on the shelf bolted onto the living room wall, where he’ll have a clear vantage point of both the door and the window.

“He says he can sit on the shelf, right Mr. Bear?” The Commander scoops up Bucky Bear. “He can watch both the window and the door there, see?”

Bucky stares wide-eyed.

“Winter?” The Commander hasn’t moved to put Bucky Bear on the shelf. He’s still half-bent over the couch, frowning down at Bucky. “You okay?”

“You speak Bear,” Bucky says in a hushed whisper. Knowing that the honey was for Bucky Bear, knowing that the bear likes him, knowing when Bucky Bear was hungry and full: now it all makes sense. Nobody else except Tasha has _ever_ been able to speak Bear. Not even Daddy can do it.

“What?”

“You can talk to my bear.” Bucky sits up. “You can understand him!”

“Uh, yeah.” The Commander looks down at Bucky Bear. Bucky can almost see the bear glowing with happiness. “It’s, uh, not hard?”

“Nobody else can,” Bucky says, which isn’t really true, but he’s too excited to correct himself.

“Really?” Looking at the bear again, the Commander’s mouth stretches into a little smile. “They must not be listening, then.”

Bucky can’t help but hug onto the Commander. And for twice as long as a regular hug because Bucky Bear wants to hug the Commander too. “You’re so cool!”

“ _Oof_ ,” says the Commander. “I—thanks, Winter. Now get some sleep, okay? Your bear will make sure it’s safe. I, um, I trust him completely.”

“Can you tell me a story?” Bucky asks, loosening his grip.

“A story?” The Commander shifts his weight. “Kid, I’m not really good at this whole ‘tucking in’ thing—”

“You could tell us a story about a mission.” It’s Bucky Bear’s suggestion, and Bucky translates it on reflex before he remembers that he doesn’t need to for the Commander. “Like a SHIELD mission? Please?”

For a minute, it looks like the Commander’s going to sigh again. Like he’s going to say no and tell Bucky to go to bed. But then he smiles and sits down. The couch is narrow and he’s almost on top of Bucky, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He likes stories and Bucky Bear likes sitting on the Commander’s lap. “Okay, kiddo. Did you ever hear about the time I saved Captain America from fifty pirates, all by myself?”

Daddy’s never told him anything about that. Wide-eyed again, Bucky shakes his head.

“Once upon a time,” the Commander begins. “We were rescuing hostages on a ship called the Lemurian Star that had been taken over by pirates. Captain America was leading the mission and got to the boat first, but he accidentally flung his shield over the side and didn’t have any other weapons. So I landed and...”

*

Bucky can’t sleep.

He’s supposed to be asleep; it’s an order. The Commander said “Go to sleep” when he turned out the light. He’s being bad by lying here awake. And his doctors won’t like that he’s messing up his sleep schedule either. But it’s not like he can make himself sleepy.

Bucky Bear isn’t very helpful. Mostly he’s watching very closely for intruders or suspicious activity. When Bucky Bear does talk, all he’ll say is that Bucky needs to rest or that the Commander tells really good stories. Bucky knows both those things already. They don’t make him fall asleep.

After the Commander shut out the light, before he went to his own bed, he went into the bathroom.

It might not mean anything. It probably doesn’t. Just because he has pills, it doesn’t mean the Commander takes them whenever he goes into the bathroom. It’s not like the Commander doesn’t pee. And even if he was taking pills, he’s really hurt. It’s not Bucky’s business.

But he can’t help the feeling nagging in his brain and his tummy that says he needs to help.

Bucky’s the only friend the Commander has left. It’s kind of his fault that the Commander got hurt so bad to begin with. He has to help him now. What sort of friend would he be if he didn’t?

He stares at the dark hallway. The Commander told him to sleep. He never said _where._ And the Commander’s all alone.

Bucky Bear thinks it’s a good idea. He can keep watching the door and the window, and Bucky can make sure the Commander is safe and feels like somebody cares.

Bucky’s so quiet when he slips into the bedroom that the Commander doesn’t notice until Bucky’s worming under the covers. Then he jumps. “Kid?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bucky whispers. The Commander sounds scared. Bucky remembers the first time he was here, when the Commander asked if Bucky wanted him to be his new daddy. And he hadn’t meant a daddy like the one Steve is now. “I won’t do anything,” Bucky says quickly. “You won’t even know I’m here. Just...couldn’t sleep.”

The Commander doesn’t answer. He’s still all tensed up. Bucky wants to hug him, but he thinks that would make it worse. So he just concentrates on falling asleep as fast as he can. That way, the Commander won’t have to worry.

*

His pants are wet.

Bucky’s hands scramble over the sheets, searching. He’s careful to be sure the right hand touches every spot the left does, because the left doesn’t feel as well. The sheets are warm, but that’s because he’s been lying on them. They’re dry. The sheets are dry.

His pants are not.

It’s not as bad as Bucky first thought. It’s just his left leg and the wetness doesn’t even reach down to his knee. He hasn’t leaked much. He probably wouldn’t have leaked at all if he’d remembered to go before bed, but the pills and the Commander knocking on the door had distracted him and—

_The Commander._

Bucky’s tummy clenches up and he feels on the verge of another accident until he looks over and sees that the Commander’s still sleeping. It doesn’t look like he’s stirring at all. The Commander must be a heavy sleeper. Maybe the pills help with that.

He can’t worry about the pills now. He has to get cleaned up before the Commander does wake up and laughs. Or worse, calls Bucky disgusting and bad and tells him not to come back.

It seems like it takes forever to slip out of the bed without shaking the mattress or making any noise. He grabs his backpack from the living room and runs into the bathroom. Bucky knows how to run silently; there used to be training exercises for it.

After he changes into the clothes he wore yesterday, Bucky rinses his pajama pants in the sink, wringing them dry. The Commander won’t notice. He won’t be in trouble. He hides the pants right at the bottom of the backpack, just to be sure.

Bucky rests his hands on the sink once he’s done, taking deep breaths on a count of ten like Bruce taught him. What time is it? He probably woke up early because of the accident, and he promised the Commander that he wouldn’t disturb his sleep. He has to find some other way to occupy himself. He could shave, but he doesn’t know where Rumlow keeps his razors, and he’s not supposed to use the non-electric kind anyway, and plus he’d dull the Commander’s blades.

His phone is in the pocket of his jeans. Bucky pulls it out, but it won’t turn on. He forgot to charge it last night. Bucky finds the charge cord in his jacket and heads to the living room in search of an outlet.

Bucky Bear is still on the shelf, keeping guard. He says that there were no disturbances in the night.

Bucky plugs in the phone before he retrieves Bucky Bear. Still feeling a little shaky from the way he woke up, Bucky hugs the bear tight.

They both agree that Bucky needs to do something nice for the Commander. If he’s happier, he might not hurt so much.

He can’t make the pancakes before the Commander’s up, since he doesn’t know the recipe. He can’t turn on the Roomba to clean the rest of the floor without making too much noise. Bucky Bear suggests dusting the places the Roomba can’t reach, so that’s how Bucky passes the time until the Commander’s awake.

*

“Here,” the Commander says, putting the syrup down in front of Bucky. The Commander’s kitchen doesn’t have a table, but it does have a couple of bar stools under the counter between the kitchen and the living room, so that’s where Bucky’s having his pancakes. He set a plate for the Commander too, but right now there aren’t any pancakes to put on it. The Commander said Bucky should eat first because Bucky did all the hard work.

Once the Commander got up, he’d shuffled in looking stiff and sleepy still, so Bucky volunteered to do all the measuring and mixing. All the Commander had to do was tell Bucky what to put where. Bucky wasn’t sure if it the pancakes would turn out as well that way, but the Commander said “Good boy” or “Good job” after every step, so they’ll probably be fine.

“Uh,” says Bucky, as the Commander’s moving to face the frying pan. “What about—”

“And here’s your bear’s honey,” the Commander adds, turning back around with the bottle in his hands. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

“Uh-uh.”

The Commander even puts Bucky Bear’s honey right between his paws, just the way he likes it.

Bucky turns his attention to putting syrup on his pancakes. It pours faster than he expected, all over the plate, but it probably won’t get too messy. There’s a lot of batter left over, and he can always use more pancakes to soak the syrup up.

“If these taste anything like they smell, Winter,” the Commander says, staring into the pan and readying his spatula, “then you’ve made some da—really good pancakes.”

“Bucky Bear helped stir,” Bucky says. He tries to cut the pancakes with the side of his fork and ends up with syrup on his hand.

“Yeah.” The Commander flips a pancake. “He sure helped a lot.”

Bucky can almost see his bear glowing again. He sets the fork down and tries wiping the syrup from his hands, but that just gets it on his metal fingers too. Bucky decides to worry about cleaning up later, when the pancakes are done.

He takes a bite and quickly tries to lick up the syrup dripping down his lips. “These are really, really good.”

“Told you they would be. My recipe never fails.”

Bucky wonders if he and Daddy ever had chocolate chip pancakes when they were growing up in Brooklyn. Were chocolate chips hard to get during the Depression? He can’t remember. “Hey, Commander?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the people in Star Wars have pancakes?” It’s hard to picture a galaxy without people enjoying pancakes, no matter how far, far away it is.

“Huh.” The Commander taps his spatula against the edge of the pan. He looks like he’s thinking hard about it. “Well, I think—” He turns to face Bucky and laughs. “Whoa, kid. Got enough syrup there?”

Bucky looks down. He doesn’t remember this much syrup being on his hands before. “’M sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The Commander’s still grinning, not frowning. “Just...you’re gonna want to wash up before you head home, okay?”

“Kay,” Bucky says, trying to angle his fork so his hand won’t touch the syrup this time.

“Anyway.” The Commander picks up the plate Bucky set out for him, carrying it back to the stove. “I’ll bet they have pancakes. They’re probably weird, though. If they use that blue milk in ‘em, they wouldn’t look like our pancakes at all.”

Bucky thinks about bluish pancakes. He wonders what blue milk tastes like.

“So you like Star Wars, then?” the Commander asks, sliding a pancake from the spatula and onto his plate.

 _Yes!_ Bucky thinks, but his mouth is full of pancakes, so he settles for nodding hard instead.

“Who’s your favorite so far? Obi-Wan? Han?”

“Leia.” Bucky thinks he speaks clearly even though his mouth still has a bunch of pancakes in it.

The Commander’s pouring more batter into the pan. The whole apartment smells like chocolate, except the place where Bucky’s sitting also smells a lot like maple syrup. People in the other apartments are awake now: Bucky can hear TVs switching on and doors opening and closing. Somebody’s coming up the stairs with fast, heavy footsteps. Somebody else’s alarm clock is going off.

“Fuck!” the Commander shouts.

Bucky goes stiff. The Commander steps back from the stove, grabbing his hand. In a flash, he’s at the sink, running his fingers under the cool water. He burned himself.

Bucky feels sick to his stomach. The Commander _burned_ himself making pancakes because Bucky wanted them. He’s already been burned so bad and he’s already hurt all the time. And now he’ll need even more pills and it’s all Bucky’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. His eyes sting.

The Commander just grunts.

“Are you angry?”

He shakes his head. It’s hard to tell with all the water, but the Commander’s hand doesn’t look deeply burnt, just kind of red. Maybe it’s not a bad burn. Maybe it won’t even blister and the Commander won’t need a lot of pills.

“Is it going to hurt for a long time?” Bucky asks.

Before the Commander can answer, there’s a huge crash at the door.

The Commander jumps as Bucky scrambles from his seat to see what the noise was. The door is banged up against the wall, cracked down the middle. The hinges don’t look exactly attached anymore, and the chain’s ripped off of the door frame.

But it’s hard to focus on the door when Daddy’s standing there, panting, looking _so angry_.

Bucky’s hand is wet. He looks down and realizes that he accidentally put it in the syrup when he got up. He realizes that he forgot to call Daddy or anybody else last night. Bucky’s going to be in so much trouble.

Daddy sees him and charges forward, and on reflex, Bucky tenses, stepping back. Syrup drips onto the floor. The Roomba won’t be able to suck it up.

“Get away from him!” Daddy shouts, grabbing onto Bucky. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s holding tight.

The Commander stares. He looks mad and scared and a bunch of other things Bucky isn’t sure of. The sink is still running.

“The fuck did you do to my door?” the Commander asks finally.

Daddy doesn’t answer right away, squeezing Bucky tight. “If you put a single bruise on him, Rumlow, I swear to God—”

“I haven’t touched him!” the Commander shouts. “You think I’d be stupid enough to try and beat up the Winter Soldier?”

“I heard him!” Daddy yells right back. “Asking if he made you mad? If it would hurt? And you’re going to claim you weren’t—”

“He wasn’t being mean!” Bucky squirms in Daddy’s grip, turning to face him, trying to get him to listen before he and the Commander can really start fighting. “The Commander burned his hand making pancakes for me! I was just asking if he was okay!”

Daddy stares at him. The Commander isn’t saying anything anymore. Behind him, Bucky can hear the water running.

“Pancakes?” Daddy says. He looks pale. Bucky must have worried him so bad.

“They’re really good.” Bucky wriggles again, trying to get loose. Maybe if Daddy has pancakes, he’ll calm down. Maybe he won’t be so mad. “If you want—”

“No,” says the Commander. “Self-righteous assholes who break my stuff don’t get any pancakes.”

Frowning, Bucky looks at Bucky Bear. The bear doesn’t have any ideas. He’s very good at Bearvengers’ missions, but it’s always Captain Ameribear who handles diplomatic negotiations. Not Bucky Bear.

“I can pay for the door,” Bucky blurts out. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Bucky,” Daddy says. He’s shaking. Bucky can feel Daddy’s hands trembling against his back. “What are you _doing_ here? I was so worried—I called and called and you didn’t—why are you with _Rumlow_? Why is he making you pancakes?”

“Because I make fucking incredible pancakes,” the Commander mutters.

Daddy doesn’t even look at him.

“I—my phone died—I forgot to plug it in.” Bucky’s face feels hot. The phone must be on silent, or he’d have realized he had messages after it charged for a little bit. How could he be so _stupid_? Nobody’s ever going to trust him to go out on his own again, not ever. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad, I—how did you know I was here?”

Tasha’s the only one who knows he’s been here before, and Tasha isn’t at the tower this weekend. She’s at Clint’s apartment building, helping fix a tenant’s satellite dish that Clint accidentally shot an arrow into, and some other stuff too. Clint can’t climb out on the fire escapes to get arrows out of satellite dishes himself right now because his balance is still a little messed up. But maybe Daddy called Tasha.

“JARVIS tracked your phone once it turned back on,” Daddy says. His hug was getting looser, but now he squeezes Bucky really tight again. “I thought something terrible happened.”

“’M sorry,” Bucky whispers.

“Why are you with Rumlow, Bucky?” Daddy’s hands aren’t shaking as much now. That might be a good sign. “Did he threaten you? Use a trigger word? When you were at the mall, did he—”

“Sit and spin, jackass,” the Commander says. He sounds really angry. “I _told_ him to leave me alone. It’s not my fault you let him run wild.”

Now Bucky’s eyes are really stinging. It’s _his_ fault the Commander’s door got broken and now the Commander won’t ever like him again. It doesn’t sound like he liked him before, either.

“No, the Commander’s nice!” Bucky insists. He doesn’t want them to keep arguing. That’ll hurt the Commander’s feelings. “He didn’t tell me to come here, I came here on my own! He’s nice, he watches movies with me and tells me stories and makes pancakes and he’s really really nice! He’s my friend.”

Daddy doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. He doesn’t look mad like Bucky thought he would. He still looks kind of sick, and somehow that’s worse.

When he does speak, his voice is flat and sort of sad and not at all like it usually is. “Bucky, we need to go home.”

“But I’m not done with my pancakes,” Bucky protests.

“Bucky,” Daddy says.

“But the Commander made them special!” And hurt himself in the process. If Bucky doesn’t eat the pancakes after all that, he’ll be so rude and ungrateful. “They have chocolate chips.”

“We can make pancakes at home,” Daddy says, except he sounds and looks too upset for pancakes. “They can have chocolate chips and butterscotch, all right? Come on.”

“But—”

“You need to get your stuff.” Daddy straightens up. “Bucky Bear wants to help stir, so we need to go.”

Bucky just stares at him, wide-eyed and indignant. “Bucky Bear’s _allergic_ to butterscotch!” He’d get really sick. It’s not safe.

“I knew that,” the Commander says, but Daddy ignores him.

“Bucky—” And then Daddy stops. He’s staring down at Bucky’s shirt, and then at himself. “I—you’re covered in syrup.”

Bucky looks down. He knew the syrup got all over his hands, but he didn’t know it was on his shirt too. That must have happened while Daddy was hugging onto him.

When the Commander says, “I was gonna give him a bath before I sent him home,” Daddy finally seems to listen. And it doesn’t look like he likes what he hears.

Daddy’s face goes red, eyes narrowing. His hands are clenched tight as he steps around Bucky. “You sick son of a—”

“No!” Bucky grabs Daddy’s wrist. He’s getting more syrup everywhere, but he can’t help it. Anyway, it’s better to make a mess than it is to let the Commander get hurt. “It’s not like that! He’s not like my last daddy, he’s nice and I don’t have to play any games that hurt and please don’t be mad, Daddy!”

Daddy stops. Bucky’s relieved until he looks at the Commander. Now Rumlow looks really unhappy, even more than he did when he realized the door broke. His face is pale and it’s getting whiter by the second.

“Winter,” the Commander says. His voice is raspy, like he’s forcing himself to speak. “You need to get out of here. Out the window, out the door, whatever. Just _run_. I won’t let him follow you. I won’t let him hurt you. Find a hospital, a church, anything that—”

“Me hurt him?” Daddy demands, wrenching his hand free from Bucky’s grip. “Who kept him tortured and locked up? Who gave him back to that sick bastard?” He’s stalking forward, but the Commander doesn’t look scared.

Still pale, but mad now, the Commander just moves closer to Daddy. “You’re gonna call Pierce a sick bastard when you’re making him call _you_ Daddy? And here I thought your high and mighty act was the real deal—”

“You think I _asked_ him to call me that?” Daddy shouts.

“Stop it,” Bucky whispers, but nobody listens.

“You think I’d ever even consider doing the shit that Pierce—”

“Captain America, so noble and pure, getting his rocks off to his best friend acting like a—”

Daddy grabs the Commander’s shoulders, slamming him into the refrigerator. “If you say another word—”

“Stop!” Bucky moves without thinking, grabbing Daddy and yanking him hard to get him off of the Commander. They all end up on the floor, Daddy still holding onto Rumlow and Bucky struggling to make him let go. “Stop fighting! No one makes me play games like that anymore! And you can’t fight the Commander, Daddy, he’s not a super soldier you’ll really hurt him and he’s already hurt so bad and if you make it worse he’ll need even more pills and he’ll probably get really sick!”

Just like that, Daddy freezes. Bucky’s still pulling to get Daddy off of the Commander, and he ends up with Daddy almost crushing him. When Bucky worms his way free, Daddy’s still glaring at the Commander. The Commander’s face is red now, and his lip is bleeding. Daddy didn’t hit him, so he must have knocked into something during the fall. His eyes are almost all black, but Bucky doesn’t think that’s anger. That’s how the Commander’s eyes always are these days.

“You’re an addict?” Daddy asks.

“I’m a burn victim,” the Commander spits, wiping at his lip.

“You’re high right now.” Daddy looks disgusted but also scared. Almost worried. “I can tell.”

“You didn’t give a shit if I burned alive or rotted in jail cell,” Rumlow snaps, wincing as he pulls himself to his knees. “What the hell does it matter to you what I put in my system?”

“You’re _high_ ,” Daddy repeats. “And you're the only one here. Watching Bucky. That’s why I care. If you’d hurt him—”

“Not that I don’t love grandstanding moral lectures, but get the fuck out of my place.” The Commander braces his hands against the kitchen floor, but he doesn’t try to stand up. “Take your brat with you. I didn’t ask for him here, I didn’t _want_ him here, and the last thing I want is to listen to your bitching because the freak I didn’t want to see decided to invade my life. Get out.”

Daddy looks like he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. He just stands up, shaking his head. “Go wait in the hall, Buck. I’ll get your things.”

Then Daddy’s moving, gathering up Bucky Bear. Behind him, Bucky can hear it as Daddy unplugs his phone. But he doesn’t move toward the hall. He can’t. “I’ll pay for your door,” he tells the Commander. “And your wall.”

Rumlow doesn’t answer. The water’s still running.

“I’m really sorry,” Bucky says. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Go home, kid,” the Commander says.

So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/152680774@N07/35950741925/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> And in this installment, my _Star Wars_ proclivities are showing. [The correct viewing order](http://www.nomachetejuggling.com/2011/11/11/the-star-wars-saga-suggested-viewing-order/) for the first six installments is absolutely IV, V, I, II, III, VI.
> 
> The scene that upset Bucky so badly with the arm-slicing was the [Mos Eisley cantina sequence.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6PDcBhODqo)
> 
> [Blue milk,](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Blue_milk) also called Tatooine milk and Bantha milk, is a beverage seen in _A New Hope_ while Luke is having dinner with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. And of course, there are [multiple](http://diningatdisney.com/recipe-star-wars-blue-milk/) [recipes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-O1xydMdvgg) for it. Or you could go the easy route and put blue food coloring in milk.
> 
> This is not the end of the exploration of the odd Rumlow and Bucky relationship, my friends!


End file.
